


Our Side

by TheLittleMuse



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is having a post apocalypse crisis, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMuse/pseuds/TheLittleMuse
Summary: Aziraphale had always assumed that he was one of the Good Guys. That was what Heaven was, right? The official, original, Good Guys. But after the apocalypse-that-wasn't he has to rethink things a little.





	Our Side

 

 

Aziraphale had always loved humans. Loved their books, their food, their endless ingenuity. That was, he had assumed, part and parcel of being an angel. Angels were, fundamentally, supposed to be on the humans’ side, as opposed to demons who were supposed to do terrible things like create plagues, incite chaos, and extend the rush hour. Of course, there were angels like Gabriel who were, well, like Gabriel and other angels who saw it more like a job. But essentially, they were angelic.

 

Crowley had said it was much the same for demons. Most of them weren’t entirely evil, per se, they just put in the work. Clocked their hours. Except for Hastur and Ligur. They were right bastards. They _enjoyed_ it. Crowley had once theorised, after quite a few drinks, that if you wanted true good or true evil, you really had to look at humanity. They had a will and imagination that no angel or demon could ever really match.

 

Perhaps that was the point. The whole ineffable plan.

 

In six thousand years, Aziraphale had seen humans sacrifice everything to help one another and do anything to tear each other’s lives apart. An angel could only be angelic, but a human could be everything.

 

He had only ever really considered “sides” in an abstract sense once everything had settled after the Rebellion. He had tried to be a good angel (being good was, after all, part of his angelic make up). He had sent reports to Head Office as often as he remembered. Performed miracles. Thwarted evil. But he had found that more than anything else he enjoyed Earth. Life. Humanity. But now…

 

_You don’t have a side anymore._

 

Crowley had said it before. Our side. The only side, apparently, that didn’t want the war. Though, Aziraphale wouldn’t say that for certain, there were hundreds of angels and many were very nice, he just … well. Sitting on that bench, after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, Crowley wasn’t trying to convince him to run away to Alpha Centauri, or some other ridiculous plan. Crowley said it like he was breaking bad news, his voice soft and sympathetic. Because Crowley, a demon, knew him better than anyone else, and Crowley didn’t have a side anymore either.

 

It was over. Six thousand years of belief was a hard thing to let go of, but when _your side_ tries to kill you for trying to stop the apocalypse, and the only thing that saves you is a cryptic prophecy and a body-swap with a demon, you really have to rethink things.

 

It was easier for Crowley. He had always asked questions. That was what had caused him to Fall in the first place. And rebellion was hardly an alien concept for a demon (although demons, whilst in favour of rebellion in general terms, were less in favour of rebellion against Hell itself, as evidenced by Crowley’s Trial). But even after Heaven proving itself willing to burn everything to the ground in the name of “winning” - perhaps. No one knew exactly what the ineffable plan was and how Adam had turned out so perfectly human. But even after Gabriel had enthusiastically encouraged the apocalypse and had gotten angry with the Anti-Christ when he refused to be the Anti-Christ. When Aziraphale had been almost exterminated for good by his own side and proved himself supposedly immune to Hellfire and supposedly not-an-angel-anymore. After everything Aziraphale still felt a stomach-churning sense of loss and guilt at doing anything other than … following.

 

He was an angel. They were the good guys.

 

Yes, he had always been … friends with a demon. That was true. And he had always felt a sense of guilt about that. But Crowley was charming and quick and a lot nicer than he pretended to be (and Crowley would be just as quick to point out that Aziraphale was a lot more of a bastard than he pretended to be).

 

But odd friendships aside he was still an angel, however nominal that title was now. So, he had always ignored (or tried to ignore) Crowley’s talk of “Our Side”.

 

But now?

 

He didn’t know. He didn’t have any reference point. Heaven was trying to pretend that the failed apocalypse and failed execution hadn’t happened. And from their point of view, it hadn’t. Angels could view reality in any way they wished.

 

But it had happened. And there was Crowley. As always. Going too fast.


End file.
